


Vampire's Dream

by Keolah



Category: Queen of the Damned (2002), Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Dreams, Rock and Roll, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-04
Updated: 2004-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keolah/pseuds/Keolah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestat has strange dreams about a peculiar woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vampire's Dream

Lestat slept, and dreamed. In his dream, he entered a bar, rowdy and dark, with smoke clouding the air. He walked up to the bar and ordered a glass of blood, and the barkeep grinned and poured him some of the thick red liquid. Grinning, the vampire picked up the glass and took a sip, and was pleased that the sweet blood was still warm. 

"Delicious, as always, my good sir," he told the barkeep. He leaned back against the bar and surveyed the patrons through the thick smoke. In the far corner, there were some men playing dice. A pirate with a hook for his left hand sat at the right side, a bony man with a rattish grin at the left, and in the back corner there was a muscular man with a mustache and a bald head looking soberly at him. For a moment, their eyes met, and then Lestat broke his gaze and turned to look at another part of the bar. 

There was a black cat sitting under one of the tables, and a man juggling flaming torches meandered between the seats nonchalantly. As the juggler passed, the vampire spotted a woman he hadn't noticed before. She was ravishingly beautiful, her hair a cascade of flowing silver and gold, her eyes deep pools of liquid blue gazing at him unwaveringly. Upon seeing her, he dropped his glass in surprise, and it crashed into the floor, blood splattering across the ground. Lestat had seen this woman in his dreams before, on several occasions. 

Stepping over the shards of shattered glass, he went over toward her. She remained gazing at him, chin perched on a hand. "Hey, baby," he said, pulling over a seat next to her. "You want a bad pickup line and a drink, or shall I just skip the lines and buy you a drink?" 

"I think I'll pass," she said smoothly. "What I'm interested in is you." 

"Really," he drawled, grinning back at her playfully smiling face. "What's so interesting about me? I'm just some guy, you know." 

She chuckled faintly and got to her feet slowly. "Look for me at the concert tonight. I'll be there." She walked away. The torch juggler passed between them again, and when he blinked, she was gone. 

Lestat woke slowly, blinking into the darkness, the dream still clear in his mind. He pushed open the lid of his coffin and climbed out, straightening his clothing self-consciously, and went up the stairs. 

"Ah, the master is awake," said his butler. "Did the master have a good sleep?" 

Lestat, still thinking about that strange dream, ignored the question. "Is everything ready for the concert?" 

"Yes, master. The band is getting things set up at the concert hall," the butler answered. The man was human, mortal, and growing advanced in years, but he was still a loyal servant. 

Lestat glanced over at the clock. Seven o'clock, the hands of the old grandfather clock read. He would need to get changed and be down there in an hour. He set off to do that, setting his clothes aside to be washed, and pulled on another set of black clothes. All of his clothes were black. It was in fashion these days, and suited him well enough. 

He went out to the garage and climbed into his sleek black car, and the butler drove him to the concert hall. There was already quite a crowd gathered, and a faint drizzle was starting to patter against the windshield. "Be back at two to pick me up," he told the butler. Lestat opened the car door and darted inside before the rain could spoil his outfit. 

The band was waiting for him backstage. "Hey, there you are," said the drummer. "Almost thought you weren't going to show up." 

"Is everything ready?" the vampire asked. 

"Oh, yeah, don't worry, we got everything set to go at eight o'clock sharp," the guitarist told him. "This is gonna be great." 

The time came, and Lestat went out on stage and took up the microphone, and he sang. He knew the words inside and out, and put all his feeling into them. These were songs he had written himself, to express everything he felt and could never say. 

The crowd was greater than any he had seen before. The concert hall was packed. As his eyes wandered the darkened hall, they fell upon a woman sitting in the third row, and his voice stumbled for half an instant before he caught himself. She was the same woman he had seen in the dream. No, she was not so inhumanly beautiful, but it was definitely the same woman. 

Silently he cursed himself for letting himself get distracted like that, and realized that not only had he sung the wrong line, but he was now singing entirely the wrong song. The band was confused, but trying to follow his lead, they'd started playing that song instead without missing a beat. He tried to go with it, to make it seem as though it were intentional, but he knew many in the audience had heard that song before and knew that wasn't how it was supposed to go. And that woman would not stop staring at him, what was she looking at? He felt trapped under her piercing stare. 

Unable to concentrate because of her presence, he started to improvise, and the band went along with that as well thankfully. That was something he had always been good at, poetically expressing thoughts as words on a moment's notice. But he found himself singing about the woman, and his dreams. She continued to stare at him passively, expressionlessly. 

Finally he tried to put her out of mind and stare off at a different part of the audience, and continue his performance as it was supposed to have been. It was difficult to keep his eyes off her, and he was certain that he gave the most horrible performance he had ever given, but he managed to drag himself to the end of the concert, and disappeared quickly backstage. 

"Man, what _was_ that?" asked the guitarist. "Were you smoking some good shit before coming in tonight or something?" 

"I have to get out of here," Lestat murmured. 

"Heh. He _is_ tripping," the drummer commented. 

Ignoring their comments, he made for the back door, hoping that the butler would be here with the car already. But the rain was pouring down outside by now, and there was no sign of him yet. He closed the door and went back inside, pacing about anxiously. What was he so afraid of? It was coincidence. She was just some mortal girl that happened to look like the woman in his dream. It was just a coincidence. 

Then he glanced over his shoulder, and saw her standing there. "What do you want?" he demanded. 

"I just wanted your autograph," she said innocently, holding out a pen and a picture of him. "You're my most favorite singer ever." 

This wasn't the same girl, he told himself. This one had dirty blonde hair, not shimmering gold. Hazel eyes, not deep blue. But somehow she still seemed familiar. He quieted his fears, insisting to himself that he must have seen her at a concert before and his mind had planted her randomly in his dream. That must be it. 

"Right, of course," he said, taking the pen and picture from her in shaking hands. He scribbled his name across the bottom of the picture and handed it back to her. "I hope you enjoyed the concert." 

"It was great," she said. "I particularly liked that song about me." She grinned at him, the exact same grin that the woman in the dream had made. 

"Err, oh," he muttered, shifting nervously. 

"You busy the rest of the night?" she asked. 

"No," he said without thinking. 

"Why don't we go off and get something to drink?" she suggested. 

"A drink," he said flatly. "Right, a drink." He peeked out the back door again and spotted his car waiting for him. "Oh, my ride's here." 

"Perfect timing," she said, heading out the door into the falling rain. "Let's go, then." 

He went out and opened the car door, holding it open for her in the rain against his better judgment. He wondered to himself why he was doing this as she got in. Climbing in behind her, he closed the door and buckled his seatbelt. Doing so gave him the odd analogy of being tied up, which he shoved aside. 

"Nice night," she commented, glancing out the window at the rain streaking down outside. The butler started driving off back toward their place. He didn't think it was unusual for the master to have a girl along. He frequently brought meals home from his concerts. 

"I have to ask," Lestat finally said after some minutes of awkward silence. "Were you really that girl I've been dreaming about?" 

She gave a faint smile. "It's a sweet thought, isn't it? Do you suppose it means something?" 

"Does it?" He noted that she didn't give a definite answer, yet didn't ask what on earth he was talking about. She was being evasive. 

The woman gave a bit of a shrug. "Is this your place up ahead?" The car was pulling up into the driveway. "It's nice." 

"It's not much, but it's home," Lestat said almost modestly. Once the car was safely inside the dry garage, he unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out, holding the door open for the woman, who emerged after him. 

"Does the master require refreshments for the lady?" the butler asked. 

"No thank you," the woman said, not looking at him, but staring at the vampire instead. 

"Let's head inside," he said uneasily. He glanced at the butler and said, "If you could give us some time alone..." The butler nodded and disappeared into the house. Lestat went in to the small parlor, the woman trailing behind. 

She sat down across from him, giving that same unnerving grin again. "It's about time I got you alone," she whispered. 

"What do you _really_ want?" he asked uncomfortably. 

"I wish to be a vampire," she said. 

He blinked at her, as much at the fact that she made a clear statement as what it was. "How did you--" 

She put a finger to his lips. "I know all your little secrets," she said, flashing him a grin. 

He grabbed her wrist. "Then it _was_ you in my dreams?" 

"I'm a dreamwalker. That's what I do." 

"You--" he stammered. "But why do you want to be a vampire?" 

"Why did _you_ become one?" she asked. 

He thought about that for a moment, remembering back. It was so long ago, now. "I don't remember," he finally admitted. 

"I never want to be old and frail," she murmured. "I don't want to grow ugly and wrinkled, weak and fragile. I'd rather die than face that, but I'd prefer to continue existing anyway." 

"You know I don't make just anyone a vampire," he said. 

She ran a fingertip from his cheek to his collarbone. "I'd like to think I'm not just anyone," she said coyly, grinning. "I know your every hope, your fear, your most secret dream. And if you refuse, I could haunt your sleep from this day forth, ensuring that you were unable to get a moment's rest." 

"That almost sounds like a threat," he muttered. 

"I make no threats, my dear. Only promises." 

"You know if I made you a vampire, that _I_ would be your master." 

"That is acceptable." 

He didn't think he had much choice, at this point. He didn't really want her around, but if it was the only way to get her to leave him alone, he'd do it. Leaning over, he brushed his lips against her neck lightly, but didn't bite yet. "Very well. Are you ready?" he whispered. 

"Yes," she said quietly. 

Lestat sank his fangs into her neck and began to drink of her sweet blood. So sweet and delicious across his tongue. It crossed his mind for a moment that he could just kill her and end this here and now, and she wouldn't be able to do anything about it. But he had already given his agreement, and he wasn't about to rescind on that. Some, after all, had been known to come back from death if they thought they had been wronged. He would follow through with his promise. 

Once she was thoroughly drained, he gave her of his own blood to drink, and she drank of it eagerly. After a few moments, he pulled back, and watched her change before his eyes. Her hair grew lustrous and golden, and her eyes vivid blue. She looked now exactly as she had in the dream. And she grinned at him, the same unnerving grin again. 

"Do you wish me to stay?" she said softly. "You would be my master, and I would be your slave, and I would serve you however you desired." 

"No," he said. "You're free to go. No offense, but I never want to see you again." 

"As you wish. Master." She stood and walked toward the door, flashing him one last grin before heading outside. 

Lestat sat there staring off for a time, then retired to his coffin, trying to put the woman out of his mind and fervently hoping that this had all been some sort of strange, horrible dream. When he woke, he hoped to find that the concert hadn't happened yet, and he was just having nightmares from nervousness about it. But even as he hoped this, he knew deep down that it wouldn't come to pass. 


End file.
